


Light One Candle

by celeste9



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Childhood, Established Relationship, Euphemisms, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Religion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1979037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loras had never been good at praying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light One Candle

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has no doubt been done before, but I make no apologies as I’ve wanted to write this fic for ages. I also make no apologies to GRRM, because he already gave away his characters to HBO and I will be much gentler with them. *g* Essentially bookverse, but very much accessible to those who only watch the show (Willas and Garlan are Loras and Margaery's older brothers). For 'grief' (wild card) on my H/C bingo card.

When Loras was a boy, his mother had often taken him and his siblings to the sept to pray. Loras had always hated those outings. He remembered the smell, like oil and incense and burning candles, and he remembered the feel of the rough floor hard beneath his knees. He had always fidgeted, unable to stay still, earning his mother’s disapproval. Sometimes he would tickle Margaery’s neck, making her squeal and giggle, or pull her hair, which usually made her pull Loras’ hair in retaliation. Then Willas, who was nearly a man grown, would frown, face full of grave disappointment, even before their mother reprimaded Loras and Margaery. Garlan always laughed, though, even if he pretended to look stern for Mother’s benefit.

“Pray to the Warrior,” Mother would say. “Ask him to help you become a good and brave knight.”

So Loras would obediently kneel before the Warrior. He would try, he would, he would think, _Please. Please make me strong. I want to be the greatest knight there ever was._

Inevitably though he would lose interest, wishing to be in the practice yard with a sword. Practice would make him a knight far before prayer would.

As Loras grew, he visited the septs less and less. When he went to Storm’s End to squire for Renly Baratheon, he found that Renly had as little use for prayer as Loras did. It was only one of many things they had in common.

-

_Loras, stay and help me pray. It’s been so long I’ve quite forgotten how._

The words, coupled with the gleam in Renly’s eyes, had been near enough to make Loras blush. Lady Catelyn, however, had seemed to take Renly at his word, failing to notice any less than pious undercurrent.

“How shall we begin?” Renly asked after the others had left his pavilion, his tone suggesting amusement even if he was not actually laughing.

“I am the wrong person to ask. I was never good at praying.” Loras could not even recall making the attempt since he had made his nightlong vigil and even then, with his sword laid before the Warrior, his mind had wandered.

“Hmm. Then, shall we begin like this?” The tilt of Renly’s mouth was wicked. “Let us pray.” He drew Loras’ hands up and pressed their palms together.

“I believe that the septons say the gods receive prayers best when the supplicant is on his knees.”

“Oh, do they? Well, on your knees, then.”

For a moment Loras considered being difficult, but he decided it would be more fun to acquiesce. He inclined his head and looked up at Renly through his eyelashes. “Your Grace,” he said, falling lightly to his knees.

He nosed at Renly’s groin through his breeches while Renly’s hands settled on Loras’ head, tangling in his curls.

“Loras,” Renly said softly, like a sigh.

At that Loras rose to his feet again and began to undo the buttons of Renly’s doublet. Renly seemed to like this idea well enough as he helpfully gave his attention to the laces of Loras’ breeches. They divested each other of their clothing somewhat gracelessly and then Loras smoothed his hands down Renly’s bare skin, kissing his mouth.

Renly slowly edged them forwards until the backs of Loras’ legs came into contact with the bed. With one smooth shove he had Loras falling onto his back.

Loras used his hands to push himself farther back, scrambling towards the head of the bed. In another moment Renly was kneeling over him, kissing him hard enough to make his head sink down into the soft downy pillows.

Though Loras had lain with Renly more times than he could count, Renly could still drive him mad with a touch. The drag of his fingertips over Loras’ skin felt like fire and the heat of his mouth was enough to make Loras tremble, keening soft sounds that merely urged Renly on.

Digging his fingertipes into Renly’s hips, Loras hitched his knees up and let his legs splay outwards, allowing Renly to settle more easily between them. This was worship enough for him, he thought, the way Renly paid heed to every inch of him, the way Renly spread him open and laid him bare.

The septons could have the Seven. Loras would keep Renly.

After, as they lay together, Loras lightly swirled his fingertips over Renly’s firm chest while Renly played with Loras’ hair.

“Loras, I have come to a decision,” Renly said. The words were slow and lazy, his tone warm and satisfied.

“Yes?”

“Mmm. We should pray more frequently. Much more frequently. I had no idea it could be so... enjoyable.”

Loras laughed. “Perhaps we can again soon, after the battle.”

“Oh, yes. We will need to show our thanks for the victory.”

Pressing a kiss to Renly’s skin, Loras said, “It would be only proper.”

“I am, of course, proper in all things,” Renly agreed. “You know, I do believe my brother would be a more pleasant person if he found time in his life for prayer.”

“I have heard he has his red priestess for that.”

Renly made an agreeable sound. “I suppose they must be doing it wrong.”

“Quite wrong,” Loras said, and tucked his head beneath Renly’s chin, closing his eyes. There would be time enough for pleasure later, when Stannis had been defeated. Now, though, what they needed was sleep, to rest and rejuvenate their bodies.

With Margaery still miles away, far from the dangers of battle, Loras fell asleep in Renly’s arms and dreamed the dreams of the contented.

-

Loras buried Renly where no one would disturb him, in their secret place, far from prying eyes. He left roses on the fresh dirt, both because Renly had always appreciated beautiful things and because the symbolism of it would have made him laugh. Loras remained there until his eyes were dry. Margaery could cry, for losing her lord husband. Ser Loras Tyrell had no right to tears, and no use for them.

Tears were for women and for fools. Loras would have blood and vengeance for his king.

Loras went to the sept, standing in the dim aisle. He breathed in the old, familiar smell and walked slowly forward, though he stopped long before he reached the Seven.

Margaery was already there, dressed in black, sitting beside their mother. Doubtless Margaery was praying for Renly, and lighting a candle. Loras wondered if she prayed for him as well.

Mother would tell him he should pray, too, but the gods had done nothing for Renly. They had done nothing to stop him from being murdered by that ugly brute of a woman, leaving his throat looking as though it were a second gaping mouth. Loras had held Renly’s body in his arms, limp and lifeless, nothing like the man who had laughed so freely the night before. The blood had been everywhere, Renly’s blood, the blood of the men Loras had killed, the men who had failed to protect their king.

Prayer would not bring Renly back to Loras, and he had never been good at praying anyway. He looked at the feeble, flickering candlelight and thought of Renly’s bright smile.

Loras could light every candle in the sept and still not bring back the sun.

**_End_ **


End file.
